


Get Out of Town

by hulucthulhu



Series: Easy Does it [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bottom Bucky, Bucky Barnes Feels, M/M, Minor Violence, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rimming, Sex, Steve Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:18:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1584725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hulucthulhu/pseuds/hulucthulhu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"“Sorry,” he says after a moment of silence. “I guess you don’t see the irony of the situation, Buck.”</p><p>The Winter Solider’s eyes narrow at the name, knife moving slightly in the wet, sticky trial on his throat. “Why do you keep calling me that?”</p><p>“It’s your name. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. Called ya’ ‘Bucky’ for short.” He sighs. He should be more concerned that the world’s assassin is pressing a knife to his throat after breaking into his apartment. But honestly, since the mask came off during the fight, and he saw his best friend, his lover back from the dead, everything other than getting him back seemed pretty inconsequential.</p><p>Well, here he is."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Out of Town

**Author's Note:**

> "I should study for finals," I say as I sit down and write fan fiction.
> 
> Title and song referenced are from the song "Get Out of Town" by Ella Fitzgerald.
> 
> this is part of a series, but can be read alone.

“He won’t hesitate to kill you.”

Natasha’s words seem to ring in his ears as his head slams into the wall.

“I spent ten years with him, and he shot me without thought. Hunted me without care. Bucky Barnes is dead, Steve. The Winter Solider is the only thing left, and they tortured the soul out of him.”

He feels the dent made by his head deepen, as a fist hits his face again.

The music coming out of the stereo is drowning out the violence, and he can taste blood on his lips.

_Just disappear.  
I care for you, too much._

The metal hand pins him to the wall. And he thinks about fighting but he can’t find it in him.

_And when you’re near, close to me dear  
We touch too much._

There’s a knife at his throat, he can feel the hot prick of sharpened metal making his skin split slightly.

_The thrill when we meet is so bittersweet.  
That darling, it’s getting me down. _

And he’s laughing with a knife to his throat. Because of all the crazy things that have happened, that he’s seen since he woke up, the irony of this song is going to kill him.

The Winter Solider snarls at him, presses the knife a little closer as his laugh won’t stop. He notices though, that his throat isn’t open. That he isn’t laughing a gurgle of blood out of his windpipe. He notices that the Winter Solider is hesitating.

“Stop!” the long haired man screams at him, trying to push him farther into the wall, like he could become trapped inside of it. He looks so confused. So shattered. And that makes Steve’s laugh wither like a flower in frost.

“Sorry,” he says after a moment of silence. “I guess you don’t see the irony of the situation, Buck.”

The Winter Solider’s eyes narrow at the name, knife moving slightly in the wet, sticky trial on his throat. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“It’s your name. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. Called ya’ ‘Bucky’ for short.” He sighs. He should be more concerned that the world’s assassin is pressing a knife to his throat after breaking into his apartment. But honestly, since the mask came off during the fight, and he saw his best friend, his lover back from the dead, everything other than getting him back seemed pretty inconsequential.

Well, here he is.

The Winter Soldier doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. Steve guesses he might as well continue.

“You were born in 1917 in Indiana. Your parents died when you were a boy, and they shipped you to an uncle in New York, who gave you to an orphanage. Where you spend the next 20 years picking me out of the dirt.”

The pressure of the knife lessens a fraction of a fraction, the Winter Solider’s eyes holding his steadily, unchanging.

“You worked at the docks, unloading freight. You’d steal fruit if there was a shipment of that, told me I had to get my vitamins. I was a little guy, you took care of me, Bucky.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what friends do…Because we—“

“I—I _know_ you,” he cuts Steve off. His brow is furrowed in confusion and his voice is laced with anger, but the knife is receding from the spot on Steve’s throat.

“You do. Why don’t we put the knife down and pull my head out of the plaster, and I can tell you more,” he tried cautiously. And suddenly he was being pulled from the wall and thrust into an arm chair as the most elusive assassin in the world sits on the couch, looking at him with urgency. He wants to start laughing again, he really does. It takes every ounce of his will power to not. Mostly because he doesn’t want to start bleeding again. He takes a moment to turn down the stereo remotely. “What do you want to know?”

The brow under the dark hair crinkles again, “I-- I don’t know.”

“Okay. Well. We can start from the beginning I guess. Do you want some popcorn or a drink or to put your knife away or something?”

The other man shakes his head. Steve sighs and gets comfortable.

“Like I said, you and I met at the boys home in Brooklyn. Weren’t more than seven or eight. And this bigger kid was picking on one of the new boys for something or other, and I stepped in and got my ass knocked to the ground. And before I knew it, you were flying out of no where, tackling the kid to the ground and punching him in the face. Sister Maria was so mad, there was blood on all of us. You hadn’t ever met me before, but you were already saving my ass.”

The other man looks at the backs of his hands, flexing them, like he can feel the blood from a bloody nose on his knuckles again.

“We grew up there. We were inseparable after that. When you turned 16 they turned you out, and you got a job at the docks to save up for a place. I’d sneak you into the home every night and you’d sleep in my bed.  When I turned 16, we found a shabby little place and called it home.”

He looks at the Winter Solider, who cocks his head, “We shared a bed?”

“Well, not like that—I mean not at—“

“I remember,” he gasps, looking a little shaken, hand floating up to his lips. “I remember you tasted like whiskey.”

Steve smiles sadly at him, “Yeah. I drank your whiskey.”

“We were…?”

“Yeah.”

“There was a girl…?” He asks after thinking a moment.

“Yeah, Buck, you had lots of girls too.”

“No,” he frowns and points at Steve with his knife like it’s merely a finger, “ _your_ girl.”

“Peggy? She was swell, Buck. But we had this discussion in 1944, you’re the only one I want.”

And just for a second, he sees a flash in the blue eyes across from him, “Sorry if I don’t exactly remember.” But it was said with the barest hint of a smile. But Steve blinked and it was gone.

“Do you know what happened to me?” Bucky said looking at the metal arm, moving his hand like it was new to him.

“A little. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“I want to know if what I know is true.”

Steve sighs, “Fair enough. You fell from a train on a mountain. There was no way anyone but me could have survived. But I guess I rubbed off on you a little. Or Dr. Zola did. The Russians found you. You were in bad shape. Missing an arm, broken everywhere.”

“There was—There was so much blood,” Bucky says, his brow furrowed, staring at his arm again.

“They, uh, patched you up while they were experimenting on you. Brain washed you. Made you into ‘the winter solider,’ and used you when they needed you. They put you to sleep in ice in between.”

“The red woman?”

“You remember her?”

“She was a girl once,” he says like he’s not quite sure.

“She says you trained her.”

“Is she…?”

“A bad guy? She used to be. She had a change of heart. If it makes you feel any better, she’s the best of the best at what she does.”

Bucky nods sternly.

They’re quiet for a while, just sitting in the dark. Steve can’t help but stifle a yawn. It’s late. He can see the first fingers of dawn creeping up outside. Bucky abruptly stands up and goes to the window, but once again, he hesitates.

“I’m going to come back,” he warns before slipping out. And Steve tries to sleep that night, but he can’t stop tonguing the cut on his lip, and touching the already healing slice on his neck as the sun pulled itself into the sky.

His day goes by in a blur, and he falls asleep in the arm chair waiting. The next couple days repeats the pattern. No Bucky.

He sleeps in his bed again, but is roused from his sleep by a presence in the room.

He’s in the shadows, wearing street clothes. A hooded sweatshirt under a leather jacket, and jeans. His hair looks unwashed. He’s unshaven. He doesn’t say anything as Steve sits up in bed.

“Hey.”

Bucky just stands there.

“Do you want to sit down?”

Bucky shrugs.

“Do you want a story?”

Bucky nods. And comes when Steve pats on the bed for him to sit. He sits at the very end, opposite of Steve.

“Anything you want to hear in particular?”

He shakes his head.

Steve thinks for a minute, taking in the sight of the man in front of him. He looks tired.

“We were poor, you and I.”

Bucky nods, seriously look, like he’s trying to remember.

“And you had a big date with this dame from the neighborhood. She was _the_ girl to have, so you wanted to get ready, but we didn’t have money for you to go to a proper barber. So you come to me with some scissors you borrowed from a neighbor and your razor and you say, ‘you do it, you’re an artist.’ And so I set up a barber shop in the kitchen, gave you the full hot towel and shave treatment. But the hair cut, oh man. You woulda been better off before,” he laughs, remembering. “So you go to pick up the girl with your chopped hair, and she just laughs and shuts the door in your face.”

“Was I mad?”

“No, you weren’t. You came home and said, ‘She doesn’t understand art, Stevie. But we do.’ And you used your money for the date to buy us a nice dinner instead.” Steve smiles in the dark.

Bucky opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but closes his mouth again. Steve just waits.

“Could you—could you do it again?”

“I think we can afford to get you a real barber.”

“No.”

“Okay. But you need a bath first,” he says examining him.

Bucky nods, but stays still as Steve gets out of bed and shuffles to the bathroom. He comes out a moment later, “I’ve got the bath running, if you want to hop in. there’s soap and stuff. I’ll just wait till you’re done.” Bucky nods again and goes and strips efficiently and steps into the steaming, filling tub. Steve meanwhile grabs some kitchen shears and waits on the bed. He hears the tub turn off and waits.

He hears a soft, questioning voice, “Steve?”

He walks to the door that’s still cracked open. “Yeah, Buck?” he hears some water movement, “you okay?”

He hears a hum, “will you wash my hair?”

He opens the door and slips into the warm room, “Yeah.”

His body looks like Steve remembers. But the place where the metal arm meets flesh is nothing like Steve’s ever seen. Even the Arc Reactor in Tony’s chest looked better compared to this. Like his arm had been torn off his shoulder with someone’s bare hands, nails gouging the flesh. Steve tries not to stare as he sits on the edge of the tub behind Bucky.

“You used to do this for me, when I was really sick.”

“I remember.”

“Tip you head back,” he says as he pours water down over Bucky’s head. He pours some shampoo in his hands and rubs it into Bucky’s scalp, letting the suds wash away the grime.

“I went to the museum.”

Steve stops for a moment, “the Smithsonian?”

“Yeah,” he tips his head back as Steve rinses his hair. “There was nothing about us being lovers. But I remember it. I think.”

“We kept it a secret.”

“You gave your suit back.”

“I got a new one.”

“They had stuff about me.”

“You were important.”

Bucky turns and looks at him, eyes wide and fearful, “Am I a bad man? I remember things that I did. And they were…Am I a monster?”

“No, Bucky. Nothing that happened was you. I promise you, you’re the best man that ever lived.”

Bucky frowns for a moment, but seems to accept it. “Captain America can’t lie.” He says, and steve sighs, until he sees the smile on mouth that said it.

“Alright, wise guy. Get out of there and I’ll give you a shave.”

He turns away as Bucky gets out of the tub and wraps a town around himself. Steve pats the counter, and Bucky sits.

He lathers Bucky’s face with shaving cream on a brush, and reaches for his straight razor.

“Do you remember this?”

It had a pearl handle, it had been the most expensive thing they’d owned.

“It was my fathers,” he says, and Steve nods.

“You gave it to me for as a birthday present. But I couldn’t accept it. I kept it after you—after you fell.”

Bucky looks nervous. This is no doubt the most vulnerable he’s been in seventy years as Steve steps between his knees and tips back his chin, exposing his throat. He uses his thumb to pull the skin taught gently, and he can feel the pulse jumping beneath his fingers.

"Shhh, you’re okay,” he says as he begins shaving away hair and froth. Thumb moving over the cleaned skin. He missed being so close to his friend. He missed the feel of his skin.

They’re both quiet throughout the shave. With Bucky’s face free of scruff and foam, Steve cant help but touch the fresh skin. Fingers running along the line of his jaw, his thumb brushing over the bitten lip.

“Steve,” his voice is breathy and soft.

And Steve hopes to god he doesn’t ask him to stop, “hmm?”

“I don’t want a haircut,” he leans into the hand on his skin.

“What do you want?” he says softly, and hopes he won’t regret it. And when Bucky is leaning forward, lips pressed firmly against his, he holds onto the moment for dear life. He lets his other hand float to Bucky’s towel clad hip as he presses their bodies closer, hot from sleep and bathing.

“I want,” he says between kisses, “everything I’ve missed about you.” He nips at Steve’s lip playfully.

“I’m yours, Buck.”

There’s hands grabbing desperately at the hem of his shirt as legs wrap around his waist. He shucks his shirt, and pulls the other man close to him, lifting him off the counter, hands on the sculpted ass. The towel falls away on the trip to the bed, and the moment he sets the other man down, he’s pulling down his boxers and crawling into bed with him.

They’re both achingly hard. Cocks rubbing together between them as they kiss heatedly.

“Please,” Bucky says. And Steve kisses down his chest, down his thighs, and places a light kiss on his ass before he’s tonging at Bucky’s hole as the other man shudders. He licks Bucky open before grabbing lube out of the bedside drawer and adding a slick finger as he peppers kisses all over him. And soon he’s adding another and Bucky’s pushing back into them, begging for more. After he works him a while with a third, they’re both panting and desperate. He licks a stripe up the underside of Bucky’s cock before he kisses up his chest and to his mouth.

“are you sure?”

“Yes,” Bucky says, rolling them over and straddling Steve before lowering himself on his cock. Bucky moans as he takes it and Steve does everything he can not to fuck up into him before he’s ready. His hands are bruising on Bucky’s hips, but the other man doesn’t seem to care as he swirls them.

It’s frantic and desperate. Steve’s pounding into him and Bucky is meeting his thrusts. But this is what they need.

Steve spills inside of Bucky, which sets him over the edge too, cumming across Steve’s chest.

They rest for a while in silence before they make love again. This time it’s slow, and soft and Steve kisses away tears from Bucky’s cheeks.

When they’re done, Steve cleans them up before tucking himself under Bucky’s metal arm, head on his chest.

“Steve?”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“What happens now?”

He smiles softly.

“We enjoy it.”

 


End file.
